The Gift
by travln1
Summary: Written for sickwilson fest on lj, Wilson gets a case of the hives. Oneshot. Borders fluffy. No pairing intended, but if you wear slash goggles... . Thanks to my amazing betas: lucyvanflick & wrytingtyme.


While scratching his neck, Wilson debated whether or not to get into his own car with House at the wheel. The very fact that he was considering it, made him certain that he was beginning to lose his mind.

"Are you going to get in or would you rather I crush every toe when I put this safe-mobile into drive?"

"And Cuddy said this was okay?"

"Yep."

Wilson eyed House warily. He shifted momentarily, silently debating the situation. And with a hefty sigh, Wilson got into the car. Once in, he looked at House and shook his head.

"You're lying."

House raised an eyebrow. "And yet here you are."

Wilson fought back a broad grin while flipping open his cell phone. As House pulled away from the curb, Wilson had his assistant shuffle his appointments around.

______

"Will you stop that?" House asked.

"What?"

"You're scratching like a flea-infested mutt."

"Am I?"

Eighteen minutes into the road trip, conversation had ceased. Wilson watched the mile markers roll by as House sat tight lipped with one hand on the steering wheel and the other on his bad thigh. Wilson knew that in time, House would divulge their secret destination; he also knew that if pressed, House wouldn't say a word. So, Wilson waited. And scratched. And scratched some more.

"If you don't stop..." House turned to look at Wilson as they sat at a red light. House stared intently at Wilson. "Hey, look," he said, pointing out the passenger window, "Isn't that Karamel?"

"What?" As Wilson turned to look out of the window, House eyed the back of Wilson's neck. House tipped his chin down, raised his eyes to study the small red bumps and sighed loudly.

"And why did you do that?" Wilson asked as he looked at House.

"So, what exactly did you have for lunch today?"

Wilson furrowed his brow and shook his head, wondering what House would come up with next. Likely some ploy to embarrass him in some manner or other, or perhaps a joke where Wilson would suddenly find himself alone at a gas station as House made a dash back to Princeton.

"Food," Wilson said, not willing to engage House in any of his mind games.

"Well, that narrows it down."

"The Asian wrap with a side of coleslaw. Happy now?"

"And exactly what was in that Asian wrap?"

"House, does it really matter what I had for lunch? What did you have? I have no idea, since no one was around to mooch half my lunch."

"I was with a patient," House sneered.

"Sure, if you consider a portable TV in an empty exam room your _patient_."

House smiled. Wilson knew him too well.

"So why does it matter what I had for lunch?"

"Because you have hives."

"I do not. I haven't had hives since I ate at that Chinese rest…." Wilson paused, eyes widening. "Oh my god."

"Yeah."

"We have to go back."

House rolled his eyes. "We aren't going back. You'll be fine."

"You were there. In less than an hour, my throat is going to close up and I won't be able to breathe. We're almost too far as it is to reach Plainsboro."

"But-"

"House!"

House pouted, frowned, and made a high-pitched whining noise.

"And somehow your acting like a child is is going to magically make this better? Just where are we headed, House?"

House reached to his back pocket and pulled out a pair of tickets, throwing them at Wilson in defeat. Picking them up, Wilson scanned them, closing his eyes as he realized what House had done. And Wilson felt guilty.

"How long have you had these?" Wilson asked.

"Eight months."

"Why didn't you say anything?" Wilson said, now scratching a spot just under his chin. He paled slightly. "It's spreading."

House looked over at Wilson briefly. "Calm down, it took an hour and sixteen minutes last time before you went into anaphylactic shock."

Wilson snorted. "How do you remember these things?"

House shrugged. "I called you in the middle of lunch, so it's only been half an hour at the most."

"So turn around and with any luck, I'll have sixteen minutes before I can't breathe."

House shook his head. "Have a little faith, Wilson. I _am_ a doctor, you know."

"A doctor who cares more about these precious tickets than about whether or not I'm alive to use them."

House pulled to an abrupt halt at a red light. Covering his heart with both hands, he stuck out his bottom lip. "Ouch, words hurt."

"House! Turn the car around!"

With his lips set in a firm line, House inhaled deeply through his nose. "You always knew how to screw up a road trip." And with that, House whipped a U-turn, illegally, when the light turned green.

"Thank you," Wilson said, now scratching his chest.

"You'll be fine."

"Yeah."

The pair sat in silence for several minutes. Wilson noted that House was ever so nonchalantly speeding just a touch more than he would normally. Wilson looked out the side window, when he asked, "Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why the tickets?"

"Monster truck rally. Need I say more?"

Wilson turned his head sharply to look at House. "I think you do."

House exhaled loudly. "You don't remember."

Wilson shook his head, slightly taken aback. Had he forgotten some important date? It wasn't his birthday, nor House's. The anniversary of Amber's death had come and gone, not that House had said a word. So why now? What date could possibly be this important?

"You're really pathetic, you know that?"

"I'm sorry, House. I don't know what you're talking about."

"A year ago, we went on another road trip. Remember?"

Wilson looked on at House in complete shock. "You've purchased monster truck rally tickets to commemorate my kidnapping you to force you to attend your father's funeral?"

House stared straight ahead, motionless. "Something like that."

Wilson looked at him in confusion, when a thought struck him. "It's been a year since your dad's funeral."

"He wasn't my dad."

Wilson angled his head to the side in agreement. "But why…." Wilson inhaled sharply, followed by two shorter gasps. His eyes wide in fear, he looked at House. "I can't…."

House remained calm. _Almost too calm,_ Wilson thought. _He should be nervous or anxious. Afraid maybe, but not calm, cool and collected. Why doesn't he do something?"_

"House…I…."

"Stop being overly dramatic, Wilson." House eyed his friend briefly, his exterior cold and calculated, calm, controlled. Inside, House refused to acknowledge the growing fear stemming from his stomach.

Wilson coughed, again scratching his skin. He was now covered in hives from his scalp to his abdomen. Wilson began breathing in shallow gasps, his throat effectively closing off his airway. "Too…far."

Fear now engulfed him. Doctor yes, wizard with-magical-healing-powers away from a hospital, no. "Have you got a pen knife back there in that trunk full of flashlights and thermal blankets?"

Wilson nodded. He closed his eyes, trying to focus on his breathing, fearing what was to come.

House pulled off the road, coming to a quick stop. "Get out. Come on, get out, lie flat. I'm going to have to trach you."

As Wilson positioned himself on the side of the road, readying himself for a crude procedure fraught with potential infection from goodness knows what, he watched as House rummaged through his own wrinkled jacket pockets to pull out a ballpoint pen. House sunk to his knees at Wilson's side and twisted the pen apart, discarding the ink cartridge.

"Hold this," House demanded, as he thrust the cylindrical tube into Wilson's hands. "It'll have to do."

Wilson nodded. House checked Wilson's pulse before getting to his feet and limping quickly to the trunk of the car. He pulled the organization box from the back of the trunk and tossed aside various flashlights, pocketing one in case he needed it. He pulled out a thermal blanket, fished through freeze-dried packets of space-worthy food, and did a double take at the "Emergency Survival" binder at the base of the box. He would have teased Wilson about it, had the situation been less dire, instead storing the potential bribery material for future use. Still looking for the pocket knife, House dug further.

And that's when he saw it. "Wilson, you idiot."

_______

Back on his knees, House forcefully pulled back Wilson's sleeve and injected a small syringe into his arm. He opened his eyes upon feeling the needle and looked at House in surprise, questioning him silently.

"Don't look at me like that. _I_ don't carry an Epi pen everywhere I go. "

Wilson breathing eased, though it remained labored.

"Come on, Cuddy'll kill me if I bring you back dead," House said, helping Wilson back into the car.

_______

Outside of Wilson's room, Cuddy stood poised with her hands on her hips. "What happened?"

"Your cafeteria happened."

"House, you were supposed to take him to a monster truck rally, not bring him back half-dead."

"Aren't you exaggerating just a little bit?"

"Am I? Just tell me what happened. I would have been here sooner, but-"

"Your new assistant couldn't stop ravishing you?"

Cuddy set her jaw and dropped one hand off her hip. "When I find out what you did-"

House turned his back to her and headed towards the elevators, smiling. He knew that when she found out what he'd done, she would come crawling back to apologize and thank him. And watching his boss grovel would be reward enough.

_______

Wilson smiled at Cuddy when she entered his room. He had finished putting on his socks and reached for one of his shoes when she put her hand on his, to stop him.

"What happened?"

Wilson sighed, slightly embarrassed by the whole thing. "I went into anaphylactic shock."

"But how?"

He shrugged. "I ate the Asian wrap at lunch, which must have had spicy chili sauce in it, I guess. I'm allergic to it. It set the hives off and less than an hour later, I couldn't breathe. It happened once before, about eight years ago when House and I were at a conference in Boston."

Cuddy looked up at the ceiling, smiling despite herself. "And House…."

"Yeah, and House."

"But, how?"

"He was ready to do a tracheotomy straight out of M*A*S*H with a ballpoint pen and a knife."

Cuddy's look of concern deepened. "You're not trached."

"He found an Epi pen in the emergency kit in the trunk."

"Thank goodness." Cuddy rolled her eyes. "And now I have to crawl back and apologize."

Wilson nodded, chuckling.

Cuddy handed him one of his shoes. "I'm sorry about the monster truck rally."

"You knew?" Wilson wrinkled his eyebrows, unable to figure out why House had pretended to lie.

"He thought you needed another adventure."

"I still don't know why he bought the tickets."

Cuddy squeezed Wilson's arm. "He was repaying your gift."

"What gift?" Wilson asked with a smile.

"The gift of your friendship."

"House? We're both talking about Gregory House here, right?"

Cuddy returned his smile. "He wouldn't call it a gift, but you know what I mean."

Wilson stared at his feet, guiltily. "I do."

As Cuddy headed towards the door, Wilson swore under his breath.

"What?" she asked.

"There was morphine in that emergency kit."

"You don't think?"

Wilson grabbed his coat and the pair made a dash for the fourth floor.

_______

House sat with his feet up on his desk, hands folded across his chest, expectantly, as Wilson and Cuddy burst through his office door. And there, on the desk in front of him, sat the vial of morphine.

"Did you?" Wilson asked, snatching the vial and pocketing it.

"No, Jimmy my boy. Just keeping you on your toes. Giving you a little taste of your own medicine," House said, swinging his legs down and picking up his cane. He stood and limped to the adjacent room.

Wilson looked at Cuddy in bewilderment. "Wait a minute, you're always the one pulling stupid pranks."

Cuddy stepped in front of House and pulled out a penlight, flashing it in his eyes. He frowned, but allowed her to run her brief diagnostic test.

"I told you, I didn't take any."

"Just checking," she said, turning his arms over to look for fresh tracks. She then looked at Wilson. "If he starts showing any signs of…of anything, call me."

As Cuddy closed the door behind her, Wilson picked up one of the coffee cups and filled it with water. He turned to thank House, but watched as House limped towards the door.

"You so owe me for those tickets," House said, exiting the conference room. "Bring over beer when Cuddy stops yelling at you for letting me near the morphine. And don't forget the pizza. I took the afternoon off and I don't plan on wasting it."

Wilson ran to catch up to House at the elevators. "Wait. Let's go, pizza and beer are on me."

"I know," House smirked, as the pair stood in the elevator. "Who carries Epi pens and doesn't know it?"

Wilson raised his eyebrows. "I guess I do."

"You'd better restock."

Wilson glanced at House, smiling just a little. "Thanks, House."

"For which, the tickets or saving your neck?"

As the pair exited the elevator, Wilson placed a hand on House's shoulder in gratitude. "Both."

House shrugged out of his grasp, smiling deviously. "You still owe me for those tickets."

Fin.


End file.
